


Give In To Me

by redheadgrrl1960



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 22:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11262054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgrrl1960/pseuds/redheadgrrl1960
Summary: Originally posted on fanfiction.net June 2012 - latest update July 2012 - and yes, on my list of stories to finish ASAP!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net June 2012 - latest update July 2012 - and yes, on my list of stories to finish ASAP!

"You’re such a bitch!"

Miranda jumped when her Bohemian crystal vase hit the wall next to her, water splashing as the multicolored Marguerites rained around her.

"Stephen! Are you out of your mind?"

"You don't give a fuck about me and you never have. I was just a convenience, a person to escort you like a damn—"

"I'm not about to listen to any more of your insults," Miranda said and hurried down the stairs. "Sober up in solitude." She yanked her coat from the hanger and grabbed her bag sitting on the dresser. Hurrying outside, she walked down the street until she reached the corner, where luckily enough she managed to hail a cab. Only when she sank into the back seat did she realize that she trembled out of equal parts fury and fear. Stephen's drinking was getting out of control, as were his outbursts of anger. He hadn't actually hit her, but the constant nagging, the yelled insults, were tearing at her. Tonight was the first time he'd thrown something at her. She didn't really think he meant to hit her, but it had been very close.

Not sure where she wanted to go, Miranda checked her watch. Almost nine. No use going back to the house until Stephen had either gone to his mistress that he was blithely unaware that she knew of, or fallen asleep in a drunken stupor. She looked out the window and realized the cab had reached the block where Elias-Clarke was located. Her office was within walking distance.

"Stop. Let me off here." She paid the cab driver and began walking down the street, pulling her coat closer around her. The autumn wind was permeating the fabric, and she shivered as she lengthened her stride in her four-inch heels. As she passed an open door, she heard laughter and the sounds of music and of glasses clinking together. Suddenly in the mood for a drink, Miranda decided to hold off on going back to her office at _Runway_. She stepped inside the bar, an old-fashioned Irish pub with plenty of genuine ambiance.

She saw an empty stool by the far right end of the bar. The woman on the stool next to it was sitting with her back turned to it, which suited Miranda perfectly. She took off her coat and folded it over the low backrest. Taking a seat in the dark corner, she waited until the bartender noticed her.

"Scotch, single malt, on the rocks."

He nodded and poured her a glass with a ridiculously big designer ice cube. Miranda took the glass and sipped it carefully. The whisky warmed her mouth, throat, and belly, and she closed her eyes and smiled faintly at nothing in particular. Next to her the young woman said, "All right, Doug. Thanks for keeping me company. I'll just finish my Coke and I'll go up and wait for The Book."

_Andrea_. Of course. The closest pub to _Runway_ and her assistant would be there. Coke? Lucky for her. Even if all Andrea did in the evening at _Runway_ was wait for The Book, the mockup of the next _Runway_ issue, she was not supposed to be using alcohol while doing so. Realizing that Andrea would spot her as soon as she got up to leave, Miranda gently cleared her throat.

"Good evening, Andrea."

"Miranda?" Andrea turned so fast on her stool she nearly toppled over. "Wh-what are you doing here?" She looked wide-eyed at Miranda. "Ho-how…"

"I took a cab. Felt like a drink." She knew her hands were trembling, but she refused to clutch her glass as hard as it would take to hide the shaking. Miranda figured clinging to a drink looked far worse.

Andrea's eyes narrowed. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice low.

"I am." Miranda sipped her scotch again. "Weren't you just leaving? I thought I heard you tell your young man that?"

"Young man? Oh, you mean Doug? Nah, I just knew his new boyfriend was already upset with him for being late, so I sort of chased him off. The Book won't be ready for at least another hour. I don't mind keeping you company…if you want. If you'll let me." Andrea's cheeks colored a pretty pink.

"By all means." Miranda was actually relieved to find a friendly face in the bar. Suddenly the thought of sitting there drinking alone was horrible. Being with Andrea didn't only help keep up appearances, but it was also actually soothing her frayed soul a bit. "So, this Doug…Douglas? He works at Elias-Clarke too?"

"Doug?" Andrea smiled. "No, no. He's a corporate finance analyst. He hates it though, but we all have rent to pay, right?"

"Like you dislike fashion, you mean?" Miranda tilted her head, enjoying the emotions flickering across Andrea's face.

"I don't dislike fashion! I mean, it might not be my biggest interest of all, but I don't dislike it. I totally respect _Runway_ and everybody’s hard work, especially your work, your knowledge, your vision for this magazine. I know now just how much you sacrifice."

"You do?" Miranda ran her fingers along the edge of her glass, one circle after another. Andrea seemed hypnotized by it, and her mesmerized gaze made Miranda's thighs clench. "Would you believe that the latest casualty is a Bohemian crystal vase?" She chuckled at her own lame humor.

"A vase?" Andrea looked puzzled. "You threw a vase at someone? Or vice versa?"

"Oh, I wouldn't throw that vase. It used to be my grandmother's. An heirloom." Looking down into her glass, Miranda sighed.

"I'm sorry. Just shut me up if I'm being too nosy, but…was it Stephen?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because the last two nights when I've delivered The Book, he's been drunk."

Miranda frowned. "What?" She heard how low and dangerous her voice became.

Andrea fidgeted with her glass of Coke. "Yeah. Well. He came out from the den two nights ago and he was kind of scornful. About The Book. I didn't want to embarrass either of us, especially after that fiasco when I walked upstairs that first time with The Book." Andrea smiled wistfully. "Though that turned out not to be a bad thing in the long run, per se."

"And last night?" Miranda rapped her nails against the counter. "You said he was drunk the last two nights."

"Yeah. That." Looking ill at ease, Andrea shrugged. "He said he should be able to take advantage of his wife's assistant as he too…had needs."

"What?" Pressing her lips in a tight line, Miranda had to swallow hard to keep the bile down. "He said that? To you?"

"He was very drunk. Could hardly stand. I don't think he'd say any such thing if he'd been sober."

"Damn. Oh, God." Miranda sighed. "Have you told anyone?" She gazed around, making sure nobody overheard their conversation. The press would have a field day with this, and then how would she be able to protect Andrea from the rumor mill?

"Not a soul. I thought I'd just let it blow over. He was out of line, and I told myself that if he approached me a third time, I'd tell you then." Andrea tugged at the ends of her long hair. "I didn't want to add to your stress regarding Paris Fashion Week. We leave in two days."

"Good thing that we do, I would say." Miranda pressed her index finger to her lower lip.

"Was he very drunk tonight when he threw that vase at you?"

"Very."

"The girls are still with their dad, right?" Andrea looked alarmed.

"Yes. You don't honestly think I'd leave them there with him?" Miranda was outraged.

"No, of course not, I just thought of them, that's all. And I know they sometimes cut their visit to their dad short."

"They're still with James."

"And you?"

"What about me?" Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"Where will you go tonight? Since you were going into the office, how long before you meant to return?" Andrea held up her hands, palms toward Miranda. "I know, I know. None of my business, but I'm your assistant, and I…I care. So, since I'm now single and have my vast one bedroom studio apartment to myself, I can offer you my bed. I mean, I can sleep on the couch." Blushing, Andrea smiled carefully.

Miranda was certain that nobody had ever been so ready to give to her without asking anything in return. This girl, so warm and kind, was a rare commodity at _Runway_ , and in Miranda's cutthroat business circles, she was almost an anomaly. Not sure what to say, Miranda knew she would prefer not to go home or sleep at the office. For her to arrive at a hotel late in the evening without luggage was a surefire way to attract media interest. "Thank you. I accept." Slightly shell-shocked at her own response, Miranda carefully watched Andrea's reaction. If she saw any signs of Andrea having second thoughts, she would feel utterly foolish.

Andrea looked nervous, but smiled broadly. "Fine. Well, why don't we go up to _Runway_ and collect The Book, and then grab a cab and go home?"

"Very well." Miranda finished her scotch and pulled her jacket on. This was probably a huge mistake, but she was not about to talk herself out of it. She doubted that Stephen would wonder where she'd gone, or worry, and she just wanted the respite. She would simply grab an outfit for tomorrow from The Closet while Andrea fetched The Book. She could work on it at Andrea's apartment, and then change into new clothes tomorrow. Nobody would be the wiser.

Andrea helped her put on her coat and Miranda gasped at the sensation of having her hair and collar adjusted by her assistant. Andrea sometimes did this, and every time Miranda felt the tingles on her skin for several minutes.

"Let's go. The sooner we're out of here, the more time you have to work on The Book." Andrea smiled and held the door open for Miranda. "And if you don't think it's too late in the evening for coffee, I'll demonstrate my skill and my brand new espresso machine that I got for my birthday."

Miranda glanced at Andrea and smiled faintly. "Don't be ridiculous. There is no such thing as 'too late for coffee.’"


	2. Chapter 2

Andy poured coffee into two mugs and added the milk. It was the two percent milk, not the skim that Miranda preferred, but it would have to do. She normally didn't drink coffee this late, but if she was going to keep up with Miranda and cope with the fact that her boss would be spending the night in her tiny apartment, coffee was called for.

"Here you go, Miranda," Andy said and placed the steaming mug on the coffee table. "Hope it's to your satisfaction."

"I'm sure it is. Thank you."

Miranda saying thank you? That was a first. Andy smiled broadly, unable to contain the little glow of happiness at being the recipient of something as rare as a pleasantry from Miranda. "You're welcome." She grabbed the remote, then hesitated. "Mind if I turn on the TV for a while? I'll keep the sound low."

"Don't be ridiculous, Andrea. This is your home and your TV." Miranda waved her hand dismissively before returning her focus to The Book and her coffee mug. She eyed the latter, reading the text on it.

Andy gazed down at her own plain white mug. Oh, no. She'd given Miranda the one with silly text on it. God.

"Really, Andrea? 'Brains are for brunettes'?" She raised an eyebrow at Andy.

"Um. A present from my friend Lily. I only have three mugs left. Nate took the plain blue ones. They were his, I suppose."

"Ah. The infamous Nate."

"What?" Andy blinked. What did Miranda mean by this?

"Your former boyfriend. Really, you don't think I hadn't picked up on your frantic whispers as you tried to appease him, either out by your desk, or when I've called you? On a number of occasions."

"Oh." Andrea clung to her mug. "I…no, I didn't realize. Sorry if it made you feel…I mean, awkward or something."

"Oh, I didn't take it personally. You're my assistant. I'm not about to let a whiny boyfriend get in my way when I need you…your services." Miranda colored faintly and shifted where she sat on the well-used couch.

"He did resent my job." Andy spoke slowly. "Kept saying I had sold my soul to—" Feeling her eyes grow huge, she quieted and sipped from her mug, hiding behind it.

"Sold your soul to the devil." Miranda put down The Book and tapped her mug with a perfectly manicured index finger. "Yes, I suppose that fits." She tilted her head. "Do you feel the same?"

"You know I don't!" Andy put her mug down. "I really like working for you. I happen to think that I can learn so much from you, just by observation alone." She felt her confidence grow as she tried to explain. "I know that my job is simple, at least on the surface, but watching you, your routines and your decisions, is a tremendous learning experience."

Miranda looked surprised, slightly in awe as a matter of fact. "I had no idea."

"You're amazing, Miranda. I mean, the way you handle everything that's going on. I really think so."

"Thank you. You are quite special, Andrea. I cannot think of any other assistant that would open her home to me. Not without ulterior motives."

"I have no motives, I promise." Andy moved from the armchair to the couch, eager to prove she only meant well. She sat down and looked at Miranda, whose breathing seemed to quicken.

"I know. It's unfathomable and quite rare in my world. I…I can't remember when I've been able to rely on anyone last. It's refreshing—and unnerving." She moved her shoulders as if to demonstrate how uneasy she was feeling.

Andy knew for a fact that Miranda was not unnerved by her. She couldn't be, could she? Miranda had so much to deal with, personally and professionally, that a lowly assistant wouldn't climb very high on the “unnerving-Miranda-ladder.” "That may be," she conceded lightly, “but I give you my word that all I want is to be there for you and help you."

"I believe you. Or your good intentions, rather. The question is not if, but why. Why are you like this toward me?"

Andy thought fast. "Not just toward you. I think it's in my nature to be…um…caring? I come from a long line of caring women, my mother tells me. She's a very warm person, and so is my grandma."

"Yes, I realize this. I also know that _my_ personality does not evoke such reactions in others. Especially not in assistants."

"I disagree." Andy gathered her courage and took Miranda's right hand in hers. "We all need someone to stand up for us. Especially when something really bad happens."

"And you…you appointed yourself as that someone a while back, didn't you?" Miranda didn't pull her hand free, instead she turned it, palm up, and laced their fingers together.

Andy's heart thundered so fast in her chest she was sure it was going to break its mooring and go into orbit. Miranda's eyes held hers and she simply couldn't look away.

"Tell me, Andrea, why do you _care_ so much what happens to me?" Miranda pulled up one corner of her mouth in a crooked smile. "Most assistants would have thought it divine justice that the Dragon Lady finally meets some resistance. No matter where."

"I'm not one of them, Miranda." Andrea dared to raise her free hand and push the silver-grey lock from Miranda's forehead. "I can’t say why, not exactly, that I care the way I do. I just know that you are special. I have never met anyone like you before."

"Is that so?" Miranda still had her enigmatic smile in place and seemed enthralled by Andy's musings.

"Yeah. I…you confuse me. Often."

"Is that good or bad?" Miranda practically _purred_ and Andy's stomach clenched.

"G-good. Mostly." Swallowing hard, Andy wondered how she'd be able to remove herself from this intimate closeness that bewitched her without making Miranda recoil. "Well, um, I'll just let you get on with it. The Book, I mean. Get on with The Book." Andy stood. "I'll go put new sheets on the bed for you."

"Ah. Yes. Your bed. What size is it?"

"Queen."

"Acceptable." Miranda nodded and returned her focus to The Book.

Hurrying toward the bedroom area of her studio apartment, Andy nearly stubbed her toes on the dresser. She opened the bottom drawer and saw to her relief that her best set of cotton sheets was clean. Like her grandmother, she always kept bags of lavender among her sheets and towels, and now she inhaled the scent with the same delight as always. She hoped Miranda would like it as well.

She made the bed quickly and carried the used sheets to the hamper in the bathroom. Double-checking that the bathroom was sufficiently clean, she undressed, put her long hair up with a scrunchy, and stepped into the shower. Used to the noisy pipes, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the warm spray of water pounding her shoulders. After a long day at her desk and running errands, she reveled in the massage. Getting out, she wrapped herself in a large terrycloth towel. Thinking she should put a clean one out for Miranda, she gasped at the idea of her boss being naked in _her_ shower. Not that she been able to resist envisioning Miranda's soft breasts when she'd been given a glimpse of their outline. Miranda loved deep necklines and thin, white fabric, which sometimes allowed the beholder a little more detail than Miranda probably realized. But from that to actually being less than a few feet away from a totally naked Miranda was something completely different. She hung a blue, practically brand new terrycloth towel for Miranda. No doubt Miranda had Egyptian cotton towels that felt like velvet, but these were Ikea's best, at least.

Looking around, Andy realized her mistake. She had taken the shower before fetching her underwear and pajamas. Now she had to parade past Miranda dressed in nothing but a towel. Great.

She tried to look casual as she walked through the living room area and as she reached the door to the bedroom, she began to relax.

"Andrea?"

Oh, that low, purring, sensual voice. Andy turned, clutching the towel above her breasts with a cold hand. "Yes?"

Miranda had spoken without looking up. Now she raised her head and opened her mouth to speak, only to close it again. She blinked slowly. "Oh, my."

"What can I do for you, Miranda?"

"You…I…" Miranda quieted and simply stared.

Andy forced herself to look casual. "Yes?"

"Good Lord, I seem to have lost my train of thought." Miranda looked bemused, but her glance also roamed over Andy's bare shoulders down the length of the towel to where it ended mid-thigh.

"I'll just get my pajamas and…oh, that reminds me. Do you like flannels or boxers?"

"Excuse me?" Miranda's eyebrows rose.

"Do you prefer flannel pajamas or cotton boxers and a tank top?"

Miranda looked blank.

"To sleep in, Miranda?" Andy elaborated, feeling a giggle coming on at Miranda's nonplussed expression.

"Oh. Oh!" Miranda swallowed. "Flannels will do nicely, thank you."

"You're in luck. I just washed my favorite pair. They're a little old, but they're the softest you can imagine." She turned and walked into the bedroom where she put on her nightwear, flannel bottoms and a cotton Fruit of the Loom tank top. She found her favorite flannels and, to her relief, they weren't too wrinkled. She chose a floral pattern set of sheets and, returning to the living room, she placed the pajamas on the easy chair armrest. "If you move over here you'll have better lighting and I can make up the couch."

"Why would you do that?" Miranda's eyebrows pulled together a fraction of an inch, a sign of frostier temperament Andy recognized.

"Why…of course you're getting the bed. That goes without saying." Andy fiddled with the pillowcase.

"Yes, yes," Miranda flicked her hand. "What I'm saying is, we decided to share, didn't we?"

"We did?" Andy's legs began trembling again. She was pretty sure she would've remembered any such conversation. "I—I don't think…"

"You said you had a queen size bed. I said it was sufficient. I would never throw you out of your own bed, Andrea." Miranda's eyes narrowed. "Unless you find it completely unappealing to sleep next to me."

"No. No, no. I…I just wasn't aware that was what you meant." How on earth was she going to maneuver out of this mess? "Are you sure? I mean, I d-don't mind." God, who was she kidding? If she had ever dreamed of such a scenario, and Andy had a pretty good idea that she had, more than once, she was sure she loved every second of any type of closeness to Miranda.

"So?" Miranda looked annoyed and impatient now.

"I'll just go put these sheets back then. Now that we cleared that up." Dreading going to bed, Andy put the sheets back in the linen closet. Returning to the living room, she gently cleared her throat. "Um. I thought I'd ask if you have a favorite side. Of the bed, I mean. I'm pretty tired and—"

"Right." Miranda spoke absentmindedly while perusing The Book.

"What? Oh. Okay. Left for me then." Andy remained very still for a moment, studying Miranda. Her silver hair glimmered in the light of Andy's reading lamp, and her skin looked so soft and radiant. The way she devoured each page, like some mix between a predator and lover, made Andy wonder if that was how Miranda regarded a lover as well. Disturbed by her thoughts, she hurried into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and then hid in the bedroom. Crawling into bed on the left side, which was her favorite side to sleep on, she wondered if she would be able to fall asleep before Miranda came to bed.

Part of her hoped so, but another, much bigger part, did not.


	3. Chapter 3

Miranda stepped into the low bathtub. She had scrutinized it before and found the paint chipped, but the tub clean. Andrea seemed to keep the place immaculate and couldn't really be faulted that the entire building was in dire need of an upgrade. Turning on the water, Miranda jumped and gave a muted yelp when it spluttered and made the pipes sing and moan. Eventually, she managed to set the water to the scorching heat she preferred. She tuned out the noisy pipes and closed her eyes.

Immediately, the image of Andrea standing there in only a towel appeared before her inner eyes. How seductive she had looked when she'd discussed pajamas with Miranda. At first, Miranda had thought Andrea had asked which sleepwear she preferred Andrea wear. After finally catching on, Miranda knew she had flushed a deep red, which in itself was embarrassing.

Miranda dried herself off with the blue terrycloth towel Andrea had placed on the sink for her. It was not as soft as her Egyptian cotton towels, but it was acceptable. She dressed in the flannels Andrea had provided. They were so washed out the pattern was indistinguishable, but on inspection, Miranda thought she could make out Tweety Bird. She sighed but donned the pajamas. Andrea hadn't exaggerated; these were the softest flannels that she'd ever worn. Imagine that.

Miranda wondered how she would be able to brush her teeth, until her eyes fell upon a set of Walgreens toothbrushes next to some Colgate. Andrea being thoughtful again. Something warm erupted in her chest as she buttoned the jacket. A quick glance in the cabinet behind the mirror showed some Clinique makeup remover and moisturizer. Relieved that she didn't have to resort to scrubbing her face with regular soap, she made good use of Andrea's high end products. Clearly the young woman had learned how to care properly for her skin.

Miranda glanced at her reflection after removing every trace of makeup. Stephen called her true face her “frumpy look,” and in the beginning of their relationship, this made her feel so self-conscious she wouldn't remove her makeup until after they'd made love and he'd dozed off. Nowadays she told herself that she couldn't care less what he thought of her. It startled her that she did care very much what Andrea thought. If she would deem Miranda frumpy or anything even anything less than flattering, it would really hurt. It wasn't as if Miranda was unaware of the age difference. A young woman such as Andrea probably found people closing in on forty old. Almost fifty-two, Miranda was twice Andrea's age, which was insurmountable.

She padded back through the living room area and into the bedroom. Andrea had left the bedside lamp on for her on the right side of the bed.

"You found everything all right?" Andrea whispered, making her jump.

"Yes. Thank you."

Andrea turned on her back and smiled. "You're welcome." She flipped the covers back and then blushed, avoiding Miranda's eyes.

Miranda sat down on the bed and set her cell phone to wake her at 6 AM. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Andrea was not meeting her eyes and her cheeks were still pink.

"I don't mind if you snore, but I draw the line at kicking." Miranda smiled inwardly at Andrea's widening eyes. "I also take offense at people monopolizing the duvet."

"I…I don't think I snore. Not loudly, anyway. As for hogging the blankets, I can't promise that. If I do, just elbow me and pull them back."

"I do not elbow," Miranda said haughtily.

"Oh. Of course not."

"I pinch." Miranda chuckled at Andrea's horrified expression. "See, just the thought of that will keep you from being greedy." To her surprise, her last words brought on another crimson blush and this time Andrea actually covered her cheeks with her hands.

"God. You can't _say_ things like that, Miranda."

Miranda blinked. "Like what?"

"About being greedy, and…stuff."

"Stuff?" Miranda deliberately raised her eyebrows. "Really, Andrea?"

"Oh. Oh! Goodnight." Andrea turned around and buried her face in her pillow.

"Goodnight," Miranda said softly and crawled into bed as well. She turned off the bedside lamp and the only light now was the lamp Andrea had left in the kitchen, probably another thoughtful gesture in case Miranda needed to get up in the night.

Fully expecting to have problems falling asleep, which was usually the case, Miranda dozed off immediately. At first, she slept comfortably and without dreaming. Then, out of nowhere, Stephen was there. She was back in her living room, and he was in her face, yelling and calling her the most horrible names. She tried to push him aside, but he grabbed her arms, tore at her blouse, and laughed drunkenly when the buttons came off and one sleeve ripped at the seam. Miranda tried in vain to make him lower his voice, knowing that Caroline and Cassidy were in the house somewhere. They couldn't see this. They mustn't witness her mother being treated like she was a ragdoll in the hands of a furious, drunk giant.

Trying to get away, she pushed at him, and even if this seemed to gentle his hands, she still needed him to let go. She couldn't bear his hands touching her ever again.

"Miranda, please," a gentle female voice broke in. "Look at me. It's just a dream. He's not here. Stephen can't hurt you anymore. You're here with me. See? It's me, Andy. Andrea. Come on, Miranda. Look at me."

Slowly, Miranda opened her eyes and looked up through tousled hair at Andrea. It was her. It was a dream. The room was nearly dark, but she could clearly make out Andrea's features, and what was more, she recognized her scent. Andrea also held on to her lower arms with a gentle, but firm, grip.

"There you go." Andrea smiled tremulously. "I woke up when you started murmuring and kicking the covers off both of us. When I turned around, I could tell you were dreaming—and that it wasn't good."

"It was awful," Miranda whispered.

"Will you confide in me what it was about?" Andrea lay down, resting her head in one hand and placing the other on Miranda's shoulder. "I know it involved Stephen."

"How…did I say something?" Cringing, Miranda pulled her fingers through her hair, trying to get a grip on herself.

"You said, 'No, Stephen, please, don't', and so on. Was he hurting you in your dreams?"

"Yes. Shaking me. Calling me rude and terrible names. I tried to get away. I was afraid he'd wake the girls." She shuddered at the memory and rolled toward Andrea. As it turned out, she had misjudged the distance and ended up on Andrea's shoulder. Surprised, she felt Andrea wrap her arms around her, rocking her slowly.

"He can't get to you here. You can stay here until Paris, if you want to. He has no clue where I live. I think it's easier to keep it out of the tabloid press that way, at least for now, if you stay here rather than a hotel or with any of your posh friends."

"What posh friends?" Miranda frowned, trying to figure out who Andrea was talking about.

"Donatella? Trump and his wife? Jennifer Aniston? Tyra Banks? I could go on."

Miranda sighed. "They are not that type of friends. I enjoy them in a social setting, but I would never show myself vulnerable to any of them."

"So, does that mean you would consider staying here?" Andrea moved inconspicuously and suddenly she held Miranda very close. "I really wish you would. I'd love to have you. I know this is not exactly Upper East Side..."

"That is obvious." Miranda spoke without thinking as her mind raced, mulling Andrea's offer over. She was startled out of her whirling mind when she felt Andrea grow rigid against her.

"I guess it's not quite up to par." Andrea sighed and began shifting away from Miranda. "I'm just glad I could help you this one time."

Miranda flinched. "What…? Andrea?" She frowned as she thought back to what she'd said. "No, your apartment is not Upper East Side standard, and yes, I take you up on your kind offer, unless you are having second thoughts."

Andrea's arms came around Miranda so tightly she felt the air gush out of her lungs. "I'm glad. I really want to be there for you."

"Why?"

"Why? Because…because…Oh, damn, because I do." Andrea hid her face against Miranda's shoulder, thus mirroring their position from before.

"What a mature answer."

"I can't answer any better." Andrea pushed her bangs from her face. "I worry. I care. I want to help. There. That's it."

"Then I'm a very lucky woman to have you in my life." Miranda ran her fingers down Andrea's cheek in a soft caress. "How about we get some sleep?"

"Yeah. Preferably without any more nightmares for you."

"From your lips to God's ears." Miranda nudged her to turn around, something Andrea did without hesitating. She curled up behind Andrea's back, close, but not actually touching. "Sleep well, Andrea. My alarm goes off at 6 AM."

"Six, huh? Oh, goodie, I get to sleep in. I usually get up at 5:30."

Miranda snorted softly. "Really. Wonderful."

"Hm. I used to think that office hours meant working nine to five."

This made Miranda chuckle. "Not at _Runway_ , obviously. Waste of time."

"A little waste every now and then can be a good thing."

"If I let you sleep an extra half hour, can I persuade you to make me more of that fantastic coffee?" Miranda inhaled the scent of some fruity, fresh shampoo from Andrea's hair.

"I'll do that anyway. Works doubly well for me, actually."

"How exactly does it work for you? The obvious answer excluded, of course."

"Not sure what you mean by that, but the way I figure…if I make you a huge coffee, and then some to go, that'll save me at least one coffee run at work." Andrea sounded very pleased with herself.

"And here I thought you meant that bribing me with coffee would appease the dragon."

"There is that." Andrea giggled sleepily. "‘Night, Miranda."

"Goodnight, Andrea." Miranda heard Andrea's breathing grow even almost instantly. She waited a few minutes, but realized she was apprehensive about going back to sleep. Hesitating, she eventually placed a gentle hand on Andrea's waist. She slid a little closer. Perhaps she would be able to sleep now? Just as she closed her eyes and willed her nerves to calm down, Andrea shifted under her hand. She scooted back close enough for their bodies to align, and took Miranda's hand. Pulling it forward, she tucked it against her stomach.

Miranda's heart picked up speed again, but this time for an entirely different reason, one that had nothing to do with fear.


	4. Chapter 4

Andy rounded the Mercedes and slid into the backseat next to Miranda. Roy, used to Miranda's unpredictability, hadn't even blinked at the fact that Miranda was stepping out of the less than posh building where Andy lived in the wee hours of the morning.

"Good morning," he greeted and pulled the car out into traffic.

"Good morning," Andy said and yawned discreetly behind her hand Miranda didn’t even look up from The Book.

"Don't you get motion-sickness from reading while en route?" Andy turned her upper body to face Miranda. "I would be green within five minutes."

"Hasn't happened yet," Miranda said, glancing up for a second. "How about all those times when you've taken notes for me in the car?"

"Mind over matter, I suppose," Andy replied with a grin. "Honestly, I'd rather focus on your notes than Roy's neck. No offence, Roy."

"None taken," Roy muttered, probably wondering what Andy had been smoking since she was talking to Miranda like a peer.

"Well," Miranda said, smiling faintly as she returned her focus to The Book. "I guess I'll have to keep a lookout for green in the future."

"Thank you. Nice of you. Or maybe you're just worried I'll get sick all over your Louboutins."

Miranda snapped her eyes up. "Don't even dare."

"I won't, I won't." Andy smiled sleepily, knowing that very few things had ever felt as nice as being a little silly with Miranda Priestly.

##########

Emily hurried through the door, pulling a rack of clothes behind her. She seemed frazzled and out of breath, and when the door caught on one of the wheels of the rack, her foot gave in and she fell onto the floor. Crying out, she clutched her ankle. "Bugger-bugger-bugger!"

"Emily!" Andy circled her desk and threw herself onto the floor next to Emily. "Oh, God, your ankle."

"What on earth is going on out here?" Miranda asked from the doorway to her office. She looked bemusedly at Emily. "I'll call security and have them call 911," she said and grabbed the phone on Andrea's desk. "We need an ambulance at the Elias-Clarke building, _Runway_ 's head office. Escort them up when they get here. That's all." Turning to the moaning Emily, she lowered herself gracefully and crouched with perfect balance on her heels next to them.

Andy thought Emily was about to faint, not so much from the pain of the obviously fractured ankle, but from Miranda's display of empathy.

"I'll get some ice," Andy said and jumped up. She went into the small kitchen and emptied a plastic bag that held some cheese cubes into the sink. Filling it with ice from the dispenser on the small freezer, she wrapped a towel around it and hurried back to Emily. The sight of Miranda shifting to sit with her back against Emily's desk, her hand resting on the injured woman's head, which rested on Miranda's lap, made Andy nearly topple over as well.

"Here, Em," Andy managed and placed the ice on the injured ankle. "It's something at least."

"It-it helps with the th-throbbing." Emily looked up at Miranda and it was as if she had problems focusing. "M-Miranda?"

"Yes?"

"Just checking. Bloody hell, it's really you."

"She sounds concussed," Miranda said to Andy.

"She sure does. That or she hasn't had her daily cheese cube."

"My God, what happened?" Nigel wrestled the stuck rack to the side and paled somewhat when he saw Emily. Then his eyes fell upon Miranda and he actually took a step back.

"She's probably broken her ankle," Andy said. "Security has called the paramedics and will show them up when they get here."

"There's a horde of people coming for the run-through," Nigel said and scratched his bald scalp. "Postpone?" He turned to Miranda.

"Yes. Push the meeting back until we know when Andrea is returning from the hospital."

"I can go with her?" Andy was relieved. She couldn't let Emily go to the ER on her own. She thought she might as well push for a little more. "Can Serena come too?"

Miranda pursed her lips, but it wasn't because she was displeased, Andy thought. It was more a contemplative expression this time. "I don't see why not. That way you can return sooner, and you know enough to stand in for Serena at the run-through. This will also be something of a preview of what it will be like in Paris without Emily."

Emily whimpered and covered her eyes as tears leaked from them. "Oh, shit. Paris. I can't miss Paris. I can't. Not after all this time."

"You can't travel with a broken ankle. We leave tomorrow evening," Andy said softly. She pulled Emily's hand away from her face. "I'll make sure any garment they want to bestow upon me is in your size, okay? I promise."

Emily hiccupped. "Really?" She drew a trembling breath. "Why would you do that?"

"This drama is completely unnecessary," Miranda sighed and shook her head. "We're going to bring enough clothes home with us to dress half this office for the entire season. In other words, there will be complementary clothes for everyone, including the two of you."

"But I really don't need—"

"Andrea." Steel encased softness met Andy's gaze as Miranda made it clear that her word was law.

"That settles that." Andrea smiled encouragingly down at Emily. "And here comes Serena."

The tall Brazilian stood staring for a few seconds. "I didn't believe Nigel when he told me. I can't imagine how you managed this, _namorada_." She knelt next to Miranda who seemed relieved to let Serena take her place on the floor. Serena held Emily tenderly, stroking her hair. "I'll take care of you. Shh. Don't cry." She looked up at Andy, who held the ice against the swollen ankle. "Thank you. And thank you, Miranda, for allowing Andy to come with us to…Bellevue?"

"Presbyterian. I'll make sure her insurance covers it." Miranda walked to her desk and soon they heard her issuing orders to unknown minions.

"Can you believe Miranda Priestly sat on the _floor_?" Serena shook her head in amazement. "If I hadn't seen it, I would have called you a liar for trying to trick me."

"We all have hidden depths and sides that we don't let show easily," Andy said diplomatically. "Emily is important to Miranda."

"I am?" Emily whimpered huskily. "Bloody hell."

"Exactly," Serena said and smiled. "Bloody hell indeed."

Heavy footfalls, rarely heard in this part of the Elias-Clarke building, approached and soon two men, one middle-aged and one younger, appeared, pushing a stretcher. "Ah, that looks pretty painful, young lady. We'll get you some pain relief before we load you." The older man smiled in a fatherly way at Emily, who did her best to glare. "We better not give you too much since you're so thin."

This comment made Emily beam at the paramedic as if he were in fact her long lost father. "Thank you."

"You'll be practically pain-free," the man said reassuringly, completely missing the point why Emily thanked him.

Andy stood to give the EMTs room to work and walked into Miranda's office. She was no longer on the phone; instead she was working on her computer. Andy waited until Miranda acknowledged her.

"Yes?"

"Is there anything I can do before I go? Will you be okay?"

Miranda's eyebrows rose in unguarded surprise. "I assure you I'm 'okay.'"

Fidgeting with her bracelet, Andy regretted her words. How juvenile. "Um. Well, I'll be back really soon. The run-through shouldn't be pushed back too long."

"Good." Miranda stood and walked over to the corner of her office that wasn't readily visible from the outer area. Impatiently she motioned for Andrea to approach her. "Make sure she has everything she needs. Serena doesn't have to come back this afternoon. Emily will need someone there when they set the fracture."

"You think they need to do that?" Andy felt herself go pale.

"Yes. There is no way her bones are aligned correctly. I hope they can do it without surgery."

"God. Poor Em." Andrea wiped quickly at her eyes. "She's heartbroken about Paris."

"Be that as it may, Andrea, you can't assume her pain as well. It's enough that you've taken on having me stay at your apartment with all the drama that comes with it. You have such a tender heart, you worry me."

"It is nice to have you stay with me, even if it's only a few nights." Andy bit her tongue but too late.

Miranda's eyes widened and Andy knew she had caught on as quickly as she always did. Trying to look casual, Andy smiled brightly. "So nothing else you need?"

"Actually there is. When you return from Presbyterian, I want you to swing by my townhouse and bring me the folders on my desk in the study."

"The townhouse?" Andy hesitated. "What about…?"

"Stephen is not there. He's at work."

"Oh. Well, no problem then." Andy made a mental note to bring the key to Miranda's home. "See you in a bit, then."

"Thank you."

Andy smiled with true warmth at the rare words from Miranda. "You're welcome.”

##########

The townhouse was quiet when Andy let herself in. She turned off the alarm and walked upstairs to Miranda's study. The folders sat neatly on the desk and she took the time to look around to see if she could spot anything else that Miranda might need. Her eyes fell upon a lovely snapshot of the twins that Miranda had framed. They sat on a beach, probably in the Hamptons, with their arms around each other, using one hand each to create a heart directed at the photographer. Miranda would love to have this with her. Andy tucked it into one of the folders and turned to leave.

Stephen stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he said sharply.

Her heart racing, Andy fought to stay calm. "Hello, Mr. Tomlinson. I'm just fetching some folders for Miranda. I didn't know you were home, or I would've rang the doorbell—"

"Always the dutiful little gofer, aren't you? I've seen you sneak in and out of this house so many times, and always, Miranda forgets everything. She has to get her hands on the fucking Book." He stepped closer to Andy.

Now she could smell the alcohol on Stephen's breath and this scared her. He was not to be trusted. She refused to back up and shifted the folders in her arms until she could stick one hand into the pocket of her coat. Finding the cell phone, she clung to it for support.

"I have to go now. I'm expected back at _Runway_ —"

"You know where she's staying, don't you?" Stephen narrowed his eyes. "Which hotel? I've called all the ones I thought she would deign to stay at, but no luck. _You_ know."

"I don't know anything about any hotels," Andy said truthfully.

"The fuck you don't." Stephen moved closer and took her by the shoulders in a bruising grip. "You're not leaving here until you tell me where she's staying tonight. I know she won't come home since the little brats aren’t here."

"Let me go." Andy lowered her voice, trying to sound as confident as Miranda. "I said, let me _go._ "

"Are you deaf?" he said with a sneer. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me where she's staying."

"Mr. Tomlinson, your judgment is impaired. If you were sober you'd realize how inappropriate this is." Andy was equal parts angry and afraid now. "I'm telling you again, let me go!"

"I'll tell you what's inappropriate. The way you, hell, all of her damn assistants, fall head over heels for her. You all think she's the queen, when all she is is a pathetic, middle-aged woman who has conjured up this image of herself as fucking royalty." Stephen pushed Andy back at the desk. "I loathe each and every one of you!" He pushed her again, making her lose her balance.

Crying out, Andy grabbed for the edge of the desk, dropping the folders that crashed to the floor. The pictures fanned out as the contents spilled in all directions. Pushing now at Stephen with one hand and holding onto the desk with the other, Andy screamed as his hand closed around her neck.

###########

Miranda took the opportunity to handle some of the less pressing emails while she waited for Andrea to return. Once the run-through was over, she would take Andrea to The Closet to help Miranda pack and carry the clothes she needed for Paris. She was grateful that she always kept her passport in her purse; it was one less thing to consider. Andrea had all the tickets and itineraries and the hotel arrangements were all taken care of a long time ago.

Andrea was worrisome. Too soft, too easily hurt, and far too beautiful. The way she had allowed Miranda to curl up behind her, even if they hadn't been close enough to touch, was endearing. The fact that Miranda's body seemed to gravitate toward Andrea's almost of its own volition was of course something she would have to deal with. She couldn't allow herself to act on such emotions. Delicious and dangerous, the feelings could be her downfall emotionally; Miranda knew herself well enough to know this for a fact. Never had she allowed an assistant, or even a friend, to pierce through the protective layers she'd fashioned around her heart. If it hadn't been for Andrea's influence, there was no way she would have taken care of Emily the way she had earlier.

Her cell phone rang and Andrea's name flashed across the screen.

"Where are you?" Miranda said by way of answering.

Muted voices were heard and at first Miranda thought Andrea was still at Presbyterian despite the fact that she'd called only forty minutes ago to let Miranda know she was on her way to the townhouse.

" _Let me go._ "

It was Andrea's voice, and a shudder travelled down Miranda's spine. She pressed her cell phone closer to her ear. "Andrea?"

" _Are you deaf? You're not going anywhere until you tell me where she's staying._ "

A brusque, male voice. Stephen. He was at the townhouse. Oh, God, how could she have been so careless as to even let Andrea close to her home before she threw the bastard out and changed the locks?

Miranda grabbed her office phone and this time she dialed 911 directly.

" _I loathe each and every one of you!_ " Stephen growled and there was a horrible loud noise over the cell phone.

And then Andrea screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

Miranda told Roy she'd quadruple his Christmas bonus if he drove her to the townhouse in record time. He took one look at her face and nodded. "Strap yourself in, Miranda."  
Miranda did as told and closed her eyes briefly. Stephen had sounded drunk and raging, as he usually did when he worked himself up like this. Normally this was directed toward her, but this time, he was turning against an innocent. Against the young woman who was…important, to Miranda. Perhaps that alone was enough for him to feel “entitled” to act out? He might have picked up on her fondness of Andrea.  
The 911 operator had promised that the police were on the way. She'd taken Miranda's information on what was going on and sent two units. Miranda realized that the press would now know there was trouble in Miranda Priestly's home, but she couldn't find it in herself to care about that right now. Her heart actually stalled for a moment when she pictured Stephen losing control and hurting Andrea.  
"Here we are, Miranda," Roy interrupted her frantic thoughts. "I have to let you off here. There are police cars and an ambulance up ahead. I'll go with you."  
Miranda was grateful to have Roy by her side as she moved as fast as her Louboutins would allow, weaving in and out of curious people standing on the sidewalk. She was vaguely aware of camera flashes going off as well. She saw her front door was open and just as she reached the stairs, paramedics appeared with a stretcher.  
"No…" Miranda swallowed the rest of the whimper and felt Roy's arm around her waist. Only then did she realize her knees were about to give in. "Andrea."  
"No. It's not her. Look." Roy sounded relieved. "It's your husband."  
And it was. Stephen was strapped to the stretcher, his neck in a cervical collar and an oxygen mask over his face.  
"What…where's Andrea?" Miranda hurried up the stairs, not even bothering with Stephen. He could wait. A female officer stopped her just inside the door.  
"Ma'am, you can't enter—"  
"This is my house. Step aside." Miranda drilled her eyes into the young woman.  
"I'm sorry, ma'am." The officer squared her shoulders and held up both hands. "I can't let you pass."  
"I. Said. Step. Aside." Miranda was ready to throttle the infuriating woman when Roy intervened.  
"This is Miranda Priestly, the owner of this property and the one who called in that her assistant, Andrea Sachs, was in danger. Can you tell us where she is and how she's doing?”  
"I'm not at liberty to—"  
"Hansen? Let them through," another female voice called from upstairs. "It's all right."  
Miranda glared at the unimpressed officer and climbed the stairs with Roy right behind her. At the top of the stairs, a plain clothes officer held up her badge. "I'm Detective Sandberg," she said. "We're assessing the situation right now."  
"Andrea Sachs. Where is she?" Miranda's mouth was so dry, she could hardly speak.  
"In the study. The paramedics are taking care of her." She spoke carefully, studying Miranda's expression. "You were the one who called 911?"  
"Yes." Miranda tried to look over Sandberg's shoulder, but couldn't see into her study.  
"I know you want to go in there, but I have to ask you some questions first."  
"I don't care what you have to do, I—"  
For the second time, someone dared to interrupt her. "You will have to answer, Ms. Priestly, and before you object, depending on your answers, Ms. Sachs might avoid getting arrested."  
This made Miranda gasp and again, Roy's arms came around her uninvited. She was actually grateful, as she might have fallen down the stairs behind her if he hadn't. "What are you talking about? Arrested? Are you out of your mind?" Miranda skewered Sandberg with her eyes.  
"Tell me what you know, please." Sandberg tilted her head, looking impossibly young as she listened to Miranda's detailed account of what she'd overheard on her cell.  
"I can tell you that this matches what Ms. Sachs has told us." Sandberg smiled faintly. "I believe you can go in now, before you're the one facing jail time for assaulting an officer."  
Miranda walked into her study, noting vaguely the mess on the floor and the people flocking around the young woman on the plush couch. Andrea sat there with one of Miranda's cashmere blankets around her, looking pale and with eyes that were too big and too dark.  
"Andrea." Miranda was surprised that her voice carried.  
Andrea's head snapped around, her eyes filling with tears at the sight of Miranda. "Miranda. Oh, God, Miranda." She held out her hands.  
Miranda pushed past a burly man who had just removed a blood pressure cuff. "Are you all right? What did he do to you?"  
"M-Miranda." Shaking, Andrea slumped against her, burying her face into Miranda's neck. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."  
"What?" Miranda's thoughts whirled. She looked over at Roy, who remained at the door. He shrugged, indicating that he had no clue what Andrea meant either.  
"Is he dead? There was so much blood."  
Miranda looked more closely at Andrea and saw that her once impeccable outfit had a macabre blood splatter pattern down the front.  
"I was allowed to wash my hands. I was totally covered."  
"Stephen was bleeding?" Miranda knew she had to get a grip on her shock in order to sort her thoughts enough to fathom what had taken place.  
"I hit him." Andrea spoke in a harsh whisper and then began to cry. "I'm sorry, but I…he was choking me…I didn't meant to hurt him, I just couldn't b-breathe."  
"He had her in a choke hold," the paramedic said. "She's going to have to come with us. Her larynx may have been damaged."  
So angry her blood curdled around her heart, Miranda held the trembling young woman tightly. "He's going to pay. That man is not walking away from this."  
"Actually, I don't expect Mr. Tomlinson to walk any time soon." Sandberg crouched next to them. "Ms. Sachs did quite a number on him. What did you use, Andy?"  
"P-paperweight," Andrea whispered.  
Miranda automatically glanced over at the desk. Her large paperweight, a prize awarded to her as Editor of the Year more than a decade ago in the shape of an old-fashioned printer, weighed at least four pounds. One of the officers was lifting it up from the floor and bagging it. One side was dark red with what had to be dried blood.  
"God. Is he even alive?" she asked without thinking.  
"Oh, no…did I kill him?" Andrea flinched and sat up. She was shaking so hard her attempts to rise only sent her right back on the couch. Miranda wrapped her arms around her again, holding her tighter this time.  
"No. He's not dead." Sandberg spoke gently. "I expect he's thoroughly concussed, but we're going to have to wait until we know the extent of his injuries."  
"Oh, my God," Andrea said huskily.  
"You really shouldn't talk," the paramedic said. "We need to load you onto this stretcher—"  
"I'm coming with her." Miranda knew her voice and facial expression left no room for objections.  
The paramedic looked over at his colleague, who shrugged. "If you don't mind riding in front."  
"Whatever it takes." Miranda caressed Andrea's back in soothing circles. "Listen, darling, let me help you get over to the stretcher."  
"I can walk," Andrea managed, but was barely able to stand up.  
"Humor me. Let these men carry you. It would make me worry less."  
"Yeah? All right. I am a little tired." Andrea sank down on the stretcher with a deep sigh. Suddenly she looked startled. "You're not leaving, are you? Do you need to go back to Runway?"  
"No. Nigel is covering everything. I'm right where I'm supposed to be."  
"I…Okay." Andrea relaxed marginally, but she was still vibrating from the fine tremors coursing through her.  
"Can't we give her something for the anxiety?" she asked in her most demanding tone.  
"Not yet," the paramedic said firmly. "Not until she's been seen in the ER to evaluate potential damage to her throat and neck. She needs to be alert for that."  
"Fine, but at the first opportunity, you must help her. She's suffered far too much already."  
"We'll put it in our report and then the ER trauma team will decide what she needs."  
Miranda wanted to make sure everybody knew that Andrea needed her, but she had to settle for what they had to offer.  
##########  
Andy was on her side on the bed in the ER, facing Miranda, who sat close to her on what looked like a seriously uncomfortable chair. Her silver-white hair lay in slightly tousled waves across her forehead and she was working on her smart phone with one hand and holding Andy's hand with the other.  
Andy sighed, her nerves tied in painful knots. The nurses and doctors had poked, prodded, and x-rayed her. The doctors hummed and glared nervously at Miranda—one even had the audacity to ask her to leave, as she wasn't next of kin—but Miranda merely glanced at Andy and asked if she wanted her to leave. Andy's gasped "No way!" settled the issue. Miranda stayed.  
Now there was another knock on the door. Andy pushed her shoulders back and braced for impact. One of the nurses entered and smiled reassuringly.  
"You're lucky. Nothing is fractured, and the reason for your perceived discomfort is from the hematoma forming. No structural parts were damaged during the…um…attack."  
"What about Stephen, eh, Mr. Tomlinson?" Andy asked, her breath actually hurting her as it passed through her constricting throat.  
"I can't give you any information. I'm sorry. You're not next of kin."  
"But I am," Miranda said with lethal softness in her voice. "The man Andrea protected herself against is my soon-to-be ex, but still is, husband. I can easily prove it to you so we can move on." Miranda held up her driver's license.  
"Ah. Perfect." The nurse beamed.  
Andy was now wound up so tightly her nails hurt the palms of her hands. "Please, just tell us."  
"Mr. Tomlinson’s doctor will come in and explain further, but I can tell you this much: Mr. Tomlinson is being admitted to the security ward, where he will be monitored for his concussion and for potential flight risk, if I understood the detective correctly. Mr. Tomlinson regained consciousness while en route to the ER, and is talking." The nurse took Andy's blood pressure, checked her pulse and examined her throat. When she had Andy bend her head back, Miranda gasped out loud.  
"Your poor neck. I've never seen such bruises."  
"They're that bad?" Andy coughed and cringed at the stabbing pain. "Damn."  
"They'll fade." Miranda looked carefully at her, probably very mindful of how long it can take for a bruise to heal fully.  
"Thank God," Andy whispered, clinging to Miranda's hand. "This…I can't even…" She began to cry again, sobs so painful they triggered their own tears. "What if he'd died…Miranda?"  
"Self-defense." Miranda spoke curtly, but she tugged Andy closer and pressed her lips to her temple. "Not your fault, no matter what."  
"And now…the press will find out. Everything. J-just like you were afraid…oh, no…"  
"I don't care. I couldn't care less about the tabloids, the press, or anyone else. The only things I care about right now are that you and my girls are safe."  
"The twins!" Andy tried freeing herself, but clearly Miranda wouldn't allow that. She kept Andy close, enveloping her in her familiar scent and the very new feeling of being embraced.  
"The girls are fine. I've spoken to them and filled them in. I had to chastise them the way they cheered. So unladylike."  
Andy noticed that it was the cheering, rather than the reason for the cheering that had made Miranda scold the girls. "Tell them...tell them, I'm sorry."  
"I will. They won't be. They've seen too much of Stephen's M.O. to be very sympathetic to his…situation."  
"Oh." Those little monsters. They could be pretty great when they made their minds up to be. Andy snuggled closer, not sure how long she'd be allowed to be this close to Miranda.  
"That's it," Miranda murmured. "Just relax. I'll be here when you wake up."  
"You promise?" Andy yawned. Tucked in against Miranda's chin, Andy felt safe for the first time since she entered the townhouse. She inhaled the perfume and reveled in having Miranda's velvet skin this close to her lips. Soon enough, Miranda would withdraw, but for now, she was here.


	6. Chapter 6

Miranda helped Andrea out of the town car in front of the unassuming hotel. She didn't want Andrea to go back alone to her apartment, nor was she particularly keen on going to her townhouse. Emily already had taken care of all of Miranda’s luggage for Paris, and whatever Andrea needed they could buy. Serena had come to the hospital and gotten Andrea's keys in order to fetch her passport.

"May I help you, ma'am?" the doorman asked and approached them. "The young lady looks…fatigued."

Miranda knew this was a way of avoiding calling someone drunk. Grinding her teeth, she waved the man away. "We'll manage." As if she would have anyone else anywhere near Andrea after she had been poked and prodded by several healthcare professionals. She had pulled every possible string and collected every favor she could think of, which included calling the DA of New York City, to allow Andrea to leave the country for a week. That had meant having Stephen arraigned instantly and released on bail until they returned.

The hotel staff inside the lobby didn't fail to recognize Miranda and, since Emily had called ahead to make arrangements, she and Andrea were escorted to the penthouse suite instantly. Miranda tipped the second bellhop at the door and made it clear they would manage without him giving them the grand tour. Inside, Andrea stopped in the middle of the room and covered her face.

"Andrea?" Miranda dropped her coat and bag on a chair and then pulled Andrea's hands down. "Are you feeling ill? Do I need to call the hospital back?"

"No. This is…I'm just so sorry. I failed to help keep you, the situation with Stephen, everything, out of the press." She trembled and Miranda realized Andrea was suffering from shock and would do so for a while yet.

"I want you to come with me to Paris, but are you truly up for it?" Dread filled Miranda's stomach at the thought of having to leave without Andrea.

"I am. I'm up for it. D-don't leave me. You can't leave without me." Her huge eyes a thunderous black, Andrea looked imploringly at Miranda. "I just need to get some sleep."

"A very good idea. I know they fed you something at the hospital that you couldn't stomach. Honestly, I wonder how anyone can be expected to recover when they try to depress you with such…substances. I'll order room service for us. What can I tempt you with?" Miranda's cheeks warmed at her own choice of words.

"A chicken Caesar salad. Orange juice, no pulp."

Miranda nodded and ordered that and a medium rare steak for herself. "Twenty minutes," she said to Andrea, who had curled up on the couch. Miranda took a seat next to her, somehow needing to be close. "Are you sore?"

"Just when I swallow. A little. And I'm cold. I mean, I shouldn't be, right? It's warm in here."

Miranda wanted to reach out to wrap Andrea in her arms, warm her, keep her safe. She was hesitant, as Andrea had this vulnerable, crystal-like look about her, as if she'd shatter at the slightest touch. Ridiculous. If Andrea needed warmth and Miranda was sitting right next to her, it wasn't too hard to figure out what she needed to do. Still, that fragile expression on Andrea's face made it prudent to ask.

"May I hold you, Andrea? I too feel a little cold," Miranda said, lying so that Andrea would feel less a victim.

"Yeah. Yes. Please." Andrea slid closer and raised careful arms and wrapped them around Miranda's neck with surprising force. "Oh, God. He…He…I thought he'd kill me. Kill me for not being…being…" Andrea trembled so hard, she could hardly talk.

"For not being…?"

"You. He was there to find you. When I wasn't…he went ballistic. I was sure I'd killed him."

"Stephen has a bump and has been arraigned. He's not going to be able to hurt either of us, or anyone else, when we're done with him." Miranda wanted to kick herself at how Andrea went rigid at her acidic words. "But that's not important now. What matters is eating something, making sure we have the documents we need to travel tomorrow, and once we're in Paris, you'll have so much to occupy your mind, he will feel very far away."

"You promise?" Andrea pulled back and looked into Miranda's eyes.

"That you'll feel he's far away? He will be. He's out on bail, but unable to travel."

"No. Do you promise that you won't decide to leave me behind?"

"I promise." That was easy to do.

Andrea relaxed against her shoulder, her lips a fraction of an inch from Miranda's skin. Leaning against the backrest, Miranda pulled Andrea with her so they could both relax. Miranda found it completely natural to rub Andrea's back in small circles. Soon she couldn't take the hospital shirt's coarse fabric against her palm, so she opened the fastening and slid her hand inside.

Andrea gasped mutedly against Miranda's neck, but didn't move away. Instead her arms held on more firmly to Miranda, who in turn found it difficult to breathe normally.

"Feels good," Andrea whispered. "So good. You have such soft, soft hands."

"Not as soft as the skin on your back," Miranda murmured. "You're like silk, Andrea. I shouldn't do this. Not think of you like this."

"But I want you to. I need to feel you close to me. You make me feel safe."

"Last night it was the other way around." Miranda knew she couldn't let her suddenly so insistent libido take over. Andrea was traumatized, had been attacked, and she should be handled with care. The overwhelming guilt of having sent Andrea right into Stephen's drunken path made her feel physically ill.

Andrea kept her face buried in her neck, but Miranda slowed the caresses over to soothing rather than sensual. The silken skin on her back made her fingertips tingle and Miranda knew that had circumstances been different, there was no way she could have resisted the young woman in her arms.

A knock on the door startled them both. Miranda rose and let the waiter in after making him identify himself. She was no fool. The press would have a field day if they managed to send in any of their paparazzi to snap pictures of her or Andrea. The waiter presented their meal and she tipped him impatiently, wanting him to hurry and leave them alone.

Just as they began to eat, Miranda with a sudden voracious appetite and Andrea hesitatingly picking at her salad, there was another knock on the door.

"Now what?" Miranda sighed and rose. Checking the peephole, Miranda was relieved to see Nigel. She let him in and found herself wrapped up in a tight hug.

"Six!" He let go of Miranda and hurried over to Andrea. "Oh, my God, what did he do to your neck? Damn it, girl, that's a crime in more ways than one. And that hospital-issue shirt. Horrible."

"I can tell you're not sure which is worse for me, being choked or wearing scratchy hospital shirts." Andrea's color returned to her cheeks as she smirked at Nigel. Miranda could've kissed him for having that effect on Andrea.

Another knock on the door made Miranda snort softly. "Like Grand Central Station." She glanced through the peephole again. Serena. She let the tall Brazilian in. "I see you brought us what we need. Thank you. I know it's late."

"You're welcome, Miranda," she said. "I think this is everything you and Andy need before you head to Paris. I've confirmed the flight and the airline assures me that the _Runway_ staff will all sit together with as much privacy as it's humanly possible to ensure."

"Excellent. Do take a seat." She pointed at the chairs next to her and Andrea's. "We want to finish our meal. I think there's a way to make coffee over there." She pointed at the section of the dining room where a state-of-the-art coffee maker sat. "I know I would enjoy a cup. Andrea? Coffee?"

"Sure, Miranda," Andrea said automatically and stood. Miranda stopped her with a no-nonsense gesture. "No, no. Sit down and finish your salad. I meant, do you want some coffee? I'm sure one of the others here can make really good coffee. Yes?"

"Absolutely, Miranda." Nigel jumped up. "I actually have a similar machine like this. No problem."

"Excellent." Miranda smiled softly at her friend and associate. "Now that we're all here, I want you to be extra careful what you say to the press. I've managed to get the police to agree to let Andrea come to Paris with me…us. If the press gets wind of this and makes a huge issue of it, this might not happen. So, lid on."

Nigel and Andrea nodded.

"They won't get anything from us," Serena said solemnly. "I just spoke to the nurse on Emily's ward. "They had to reset the bones in her ankle twice as her fracture is highly unstable. She's resting comfortably now and is highly sedated." Her eyes shone of unshed tears. "I was so worried."

Miranda knew exactly how Serena felt. "The main thing is that Emily is a fighter, and under the best care."

"She made me her next-of-kin here." Serena blushed. "As her parents live in London and their relationship is not without issues."

"That's great, Serena," Andrea said and patted her friend's hand. "Good choice on Emily's part."

Nigel came over with two steaming mugs of coffee, placing the first one by Miranda's plate and giving the other one to Andrea. "Yours is a decaf, Six. Seemed appropriate."

"Thanks, Nige." Andrea sipped her mug and smiled. "It actually helps with the soreness."

His eyes travelled to the horrible bruising. "Always something." He glanced over at Miranda. "This has to be horrible for you. First this man does so much to try to humiliate you and then he attacks the woman you…I mean, the assistant you've come to, um, appreciate."

"No need to walk on eggshells, Nigel," Miranda said calmly as she cut a slice of her steak. "Andrea knows how important she is to me. As an assistant and as a…friend."

Serena's eyes grew huge. "Then this really has to take a toll. I know how much Andy cares for you in return."

"Serena!" Andrea looked flustered. Apparently her facial capillaries were back in business.

Miranda nodded. "Yes. I know she does. Now, Nigel, this is excellent coffee. Had I known you were this proficient in brewing a perfect blend, I could've saved the feet of my assistants. When we get back from Paris, we're installing a few of these machines in the office."

"Am I to operate them all?" Nigel paled.

"No. But you will give everyone a crash course how to make coffee just like this." Miranda sipped from her cup and it was pure bliss. "All in all a rather good ending to an utterly horrible day." She smiled faintly toward Andrea, who nodded.

"I think I'll be able to sleep now," Andrea said, looking relieved. "Something to eat in the company of friends helped with that surreal feeling."

"Also known as shock," Miranda said.

"Yes. Not anything I would like to experience again anytime soon." Shrugging, Andrea rose and placed a kiss on Nigel's bald head, and then another one on Serena's cheek. Not hesitating, she kissed Miranda's cheek as well. "I'll go have a really hot shower and then go to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Andrea. I'll check on you before I go to bed."

"You don't have to…"

"Indulge me."

"All right. If I'm asleep, I'll see you tomorrow morning. I'll set my cell phone to ring as back up. I don't want to miss the flight because someone at the hotel neglected to wake us."

"Good thinking."

After Andrea left, Miranda turned her attention back to Serena and Nigel. "She wasn't doing very well emotionally before you came. Thank you for helping me bring her out of the worst of it for now. I'm sure she'll have flashbacks, and I could kill Stephen for it, but what we can do is be here if she does. You both have your jobs cut out for you when we get to Paris, but I would like to ask of you, as friends of Andrea's, to help me keep an eye on her emotional state."

The other two stared at her as if she just stepped off a space ship and asked to be taken to their leaders.

"Certainly," Serena said, her eyes soft. "Now, as far as I know, her name hasn't reached the press. Yet. But no doubt it will, so, has she called her parents yet?"

"She did talk to her father, very briefly, while we waited at the hospital. No doubt she'll have to call him again tomorrow as he'll have follow-up questions." Miranda didn't want to expose the fact that it had been clear to her that Andrea's relationship with her father was complicated. "I hope the press will be more interested in my relationship with Stephen, but that's probably wishful thinking. Once they pick up the scent, they'll be relentless. They always are."

"Then we'll be there to create hurdles and walls they need to break through," Nigel said decisively. "And on that note, I think Serena I need to go home and get some sleep as well, or we won't be in shape to create anything remotely like a hurdle."

They said goodnight and left Miranda to contemplate what had gone on since she'd walked out on Stephen. She placed the cup on the cart and merely pushed it out the door. She called the desk and asked them to remove it and not disturb her until the wakeup call the next morning.

Miranda got ready for bed with the well-rehearsed efficiency many late-night sessions with The Book had taught her. Finding a silk camisole that reached her thigh, she put it on as well as the matching panties that came with it. She poked her head into the room where Andrea slept. Andrea was murmuring something inaudible and she had kicked off the covers. She had found the bag Serena brought and was dressed in a white cotton tank top and boy briefs.

"Shh. Just a dream, Andrea." Miranda sat down on the bed next to her. "Andrea?"

"Stop him, stop…" Opening her eyes, Andrea stared up at Miranda. "Oh. There you are."

"Here I am."

"Can you stay here?" Andrea slid over to the other side of the queen size bed. "I don't want to be alone."

Not about to let Andrea beg, Miranda simply lay down next to her. Not touching, she was still close enough to feel the heat radiating off Andrea's body. Just like the previous night, but reversed roles.

"This okay?" Andrea placed a tentative hand on Miranda's shoulder.

"Come here." Miranda pulled Andrea close and settled her onto her shoulder. "I have you. Nothing bad will happen. Go back to sleep."

Andrea yawned and pushed her face against Miranda's neck. "Mm. Smell so nice."

Miranda stifled a moan as Andrea's full lips whispered across her skin. This was a true test of her famous self-control. Having a scantily clad Andrea in her arms, an Andrea who was positively nuzzling her neck, at that, was damn near impossible to resist. She ran her fingers through Andrea's hair. "There. Sleep." Miranda wondered if she would be able to follow her own directive.


End file.
